


A Moment of Negligence

by pudding_bretzel



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Accidents, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Explosions, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, Jason Todd Whump, Jason Todd is a good brother, One Shot, Rating because of Violence and Character Death, Sad Ending, Whump, Whumptober
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 22:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pudding_bretzel/pseuds/pudding_bretzel
Summary: Bruce's heart had stopped when the earth suddenly shook beneath and he watched the warehouse go up in flames, brought back to a moment so similar so many years ago. Who could fault him for immediately returning to the cave the moment he found Damian, still alive and breathing but badly injured. He himself, of course, after learning that Damian hadn't been alone in there.After learning that, in exchange for keeping one son, he lost another.





	A Moment of Negligence

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't really want to post this. It's been in my drive for a few months now, but the whumptober came along and I noticed the first four days (Except for day 3) fit this fic perfectly and I haven't posted anything in so long, so I decided to post this anyway.
> 
> In advance, I'm sorry.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor resounding in the cave was slowly but surely lulling Bruce to sleep. 

With a shake of his head and a straightening of his back he got rid of the drowsiness and reached for the cup of coffee on the table to his right. It was almost empty, again. He would have to ask Alfred for another cup and hope the butler wouldn’t forbid it. He’d lost count how many cups he had since returning to the cave but considering Alfred’s raised brow and hesitation when he brought the latest cup, it was probably too many. 

The cold liquid traveled down his throat, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. Like he didn’t already feel bad enough. He covered his mouth with his hand, hoping to suppress the slight shaking still residing in them and looked down at his youngest son. 

Damian’s face was relaxed, finally, though the pearls of sweat that refused go away were still a reason for concern for Bruce. He took the boy’s still hand in his, rubbing his thumb up and down its back. 

He couldn’t fathom how he let this happen. One would think he was more cautious after all these years. So many years he spent working with Robin, being protected by his partners and protecting them in return, and still he managed to almost get Damian killed. Again.

The case had been a comparatively simple one. Get to the docks, intercept the weapons trade and take care of those responsible. But the explosion had not been part of the plan. Being separated had not been part of the plan either. Considering how much had gone awry tonight, he should probably be thankful they managed to apprehend the culprits despite everything. Well, the ones that hadn’t died in the explosion.

But how could he be happy when his son was lying in the med bay of the cave with several broken bones, internal bleeding and a hole in his head.

How Damian managed to escape from the explosion in his state was still a mystery to Bruce. But since the boy was still unconscious, he had no other choice but to wait for him to wake up again to answer that question. 

The piercing steps of Alfred’s polished Italian shoes tore Bruce from his thoughts. He turned to the butler, intend on asking for another cup of coffee, but the moment he laid eyes on the older man the words died on his lips. Bruce wasn’t sure if he could handle anything more on top of the current situation, but at seeing Alfred’s grave expression, he knew he had no choice in the matter.

“What happened?” he asked, already dreading the answer. Alfred’s brows were drawn to a frown, lips turned downwards in a clear attempt of trying to conceal his true emotions. Seeing that expression, Bruce already knew whatever happened, it wasn’t good. 

“Please tell me it isn’t true, Master Bruce.” The butler came to a stop several feet away from Bruce, keeping a surprising distance between them. 

At Bruce’s lack of an answer, Alfred merely heaved a wet sigh and walked over to one of the smaller screens. To Bruce’s further dread, the older man’s hands were shaking when he powered up the screen and pushed a few buttons. On-screen GNN was running, several headlines scrolling past the bottom part of the screen. But it wasn’t any of those that caught Bruce’s attention. 

Above the small letters was the breaking news, written over a bright red banner: _Red Hood found dead_?

Bruce felt his heart stutter for a second, mimicking his breath. He gripped the back of his chair and pushed himself up, clinging to the wood for balance as he listened to the words of the reporter. 

“-ver to my colleague Jordan Miller reporting from the scene of event. What can you tell us about the situation so far?”

And then there was a familiar sight in front of Bruce. The collapsed building he left only a few hours ago was looking back at him, firefighters, paramedics and policemen working about, a reporter in front of the whole scene. 

“Two hours ago, an explosion has been reported by several locals in the Bowery. Furthermore, witnesses have confirmed the presence of the local vigilantes Batman, Robin and Red Hood. What exactly happened here is still unknown and the police have yet to issue a statement. The only thing we know for certain so far is that the fire department has already found several bodies in the rubble, including that of the Red Hood.”

What happened next was a blur. If he was asked later, Bruce wouldn’t be able to recount what happened afterwards. The first thing he registered again was Alfred suddenly kneeling in front of him a broken cry echoing in the depths of the cave. 

The chair he’d been sitting on only a few moments ago, when the world was still whole, lied a few feet away, a broken coffee mug next to it. Lifting his heavy eyes, Bruce looked into the butler’s anguished ones and knew, this was real. The past five minutes hadn’t been a hallucination.

Jason was- 

It couldn’t be true. Bruce hadn’t even known Jason was there. It was supposed to only be him and Damian. Why was he there? Why had no one informed him?

Suddenly, Damian escaping the explosion made much more sense and Bruce felt his heart break at the thought. Jason saved him. He saved his brother and payed the price for it.

A small part of Bruce wished for this to be easier. He’d gone through this often enough already, so why did it still hurt so damn much?

_Maybe because you failed him twice now?_

Bruce scrunched his eyes shut at that thought, fighting off the hot sting of tears. As much as he wanted to say it wasn’t true, he knew it was fruitless. Even if he hadn’t known Jason was there, he was the Batman, for heaven’s sake. He shouldn’t have left before making sure everyone made it out alive. A small part of him tried to defend his actions, reminding him that Damian had needed medical attention, that he did the right thing. That he couldn’t have possibly known Jason was there. 

But it didn’t alleviate the guilt already setting in. The guilt of failing his son twice in the same way. Of wasting their second chance because of some resentment, fear and regrets. 

The beeping of his communicator brought him back to the present. He opened his eyes and sluggishly rose back to his feet. His body moved on autopilot while his mind was still trying to process everything. A shaking hand reached out to activate the comm and waited for a response.

“Yes.” His voice was empty, devoid of any emotion. As much as he was falling apart right now and just wanted to scream, he still had a job to do, no matter what. Maybe he could forget about all this for a few minutes, concentrate on something else and pretend like it didn’t happen. Not that his mind would allow him to do so.

“Batman,” Commissioner Gordon’s voice echoed in his ear. 

There was silence for a few seconds and Bruce wasn’t sure if it was because he zoned out again or because neither man said anything. Then he opened his mouth and to his surprise actually managed to speak.

“Is it true?”

Silence. Then, a sigh and a hesitant answer. “So you already saw the news. Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this. I have no idea how they know of it already.” There’s another long pause before Gordon continues. “I can’t confirm his identity on my own. Maybe you could…” He trailed off, the request more than clear to Bruce.

He answered quickly, still on autopilot. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’m sorry,” Gordon repeated and then the line was dead. 

Bruce was frozen in place, mulling over the fact that he had to move. He had to put the cowl back on and go out there to confirm his son’s death. To confirm his failure. The words from the commissioner still rang in his ears. Those words shouldn’t be directed at him. He didn’t deserve them, because wasn’t he responsible for this? Wasn’t it his fault that this happened again?

He reached for the cowl, now lying on the floor after his earlier meltdown and put it on, pushing his raging emotions back down.

Halfway through the cave and to the Batmobile, a shaking voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Master Bruce.” Alfred was standing next to Damian’s bed, wringing his hands to unsuccessfully hide their tremors. Bruce could see the sheen of unshed tears in the older man’s eyes even from a distance. 

He quickly averted his gaze, unable to look at the other man any longer. “Stay with Damian,” Bruce replied before Alfred could say anything else and quickly sat down in the driver's seat. He couldn’t stay and listen to the butler’s accusations. 

Not right now. Not ever. 

***

The drive was over far too quickly for Bruce’s liking. It felt like he barely left the cave when he was already landing next to the commissioner, having parked the Batmobile a few streets away.

“Gordon,” he said, for once not making the man jump in surprise. The older man turned to Bruce, a set of tired eyes greeting him. 

“Batman,” Gordon said, and it felt like the man had to pull the word from his mouth. As if it pained him to say it. The same way it pained Bruce to hear it, because he wasn’t worth of the title if this was really happening. If Jason really was- If it was true, then he failed as a vigilante. He failed in his mission, failed as the Dark Knight. 

He failed as a _father_. 

“Where,” was all he could manage while he tried to keep the pain, fury and self-loathing from his voice. Judging by Gordon’s creasing eyebrows, he failed at that too. 

The Commissioner stalled for a moment, fumbling with the hand still hidden in his coat’s pocket. Then he let out a long sigh and turned to the building after muttering a quick, “follow me.”

They walked towards the collapsed building, careful steps placed between the rubble. The smell of smoke and fire was crawling up Bruce’s nose, throwing him back to that awful moment so many years ago. The moment that destroyed him. That almost brought him to his end. The moment he allowed to repeat. 

His mind reeled from the thought, still trying to decide whether this was real or not. Before he could get to a decision, his eyes opened one last time and then he saw him. 

In between the smoke and dust a body was sprawled. Strong and muscular limbs lied heavy and weak on the ground. They were covered in soot and blood. There was so much of it. The ground beneath was flooded with the substance. A rebar was stuck in the body’s abdomen, sticking out of its side into the cooling evening air. Limbs broken and bent in wrong directions. 

Then, at long last, Bruce’s gaze reached the body’s face, covered by a broken and all too familiar red helmet. The left side of it was broken, revealing the unseeing teal eye of his second eldest.

All breath left his lungs as he took one last step before collapsing to the ground next to his son’s body. 

“No.” The word slipped from his mouth unforbidden, a vocal echo of the words repeated in his head for the past however long it’s been since he saw that cursed headline in the cave. 

Jason’s face was slack, expressionless despite the agony he must’ve been in during his last moments. Did he feel anything? Was he scared? Did he wait for Bruce, hoping for him to safe him, only for the man to fail him yet again? 

There was a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and sluggishly he remembered that he wasn’t alone. Gordon was still there and who knew who else. It wasn’t like he’d paid any attention to anything except his son, once he laid eyes on him. 

“Leave us alone for a moment, please,” he said, no, whispered, with a broken voice he hadn’t used in a long time. A voice he’d hoped he would never have to use again.

“Of course,” Gordon answered and then, with one last squeeze on Bruce’s shoulder, left. 

It felt like an eternity until the commissioner’s steps finally faded into the night and Bruce was truly alone. 

His trembling hand reached out, glove already taken off, and hesitantly hovered over Jason’s cheek. He was scared, so damn scared to touch him. The last time Jason died he had never really recovered from it, and now he was supposed to go through all this again? 

He couldn’t do it. Not again. Not after all these years, after Jason and Damian. 

_Damian_. He had to tell the boy what happened. That Jason _died_. He would have to confirm it to Alfred as well, and tell Dick, Tim, Cass and Duke. How was he supposed to tell them? 

The fatigue in his body sat heavy, pulling his hand down until it finally came to rest on Jason’s cheek. A gasp caught in his throat when his skin touched Jason’s and he found it was still warm, just barely colder than usually. As if he’d just stayed out without a jacket for too long. Not because he was dead. 

He suppressed the sobs trying to rip free from his mouth, but failed, tears pooling beneath his cowl as he leaned down, carefully gathering Jason in his arms and holding him close. Curling around the broken body in a futile attempt to protect him from further harm. 

Rocking softly as if to calm a frightened child. Or as if to soothe the ache in a father’s heart that threatened to tear him apart. 

“Jason,” he gasped, stroking his thumb over the dirty cheek, “I’m so sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, yeah. I hope you enjoyed it?? *quickly hides behind a rock*


End file.
